


When the Bough Breaks

by bubblebucky



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Child Inquisitor, Harm to Children, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Loss of Parent(s), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Parent-Child Relationship, Yikes, also: fuck beets, more like child herald
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-08
Updated: 2019-02-08
Packaged: 2019-09-13 23:20:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16901709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bubblebucky/pseuds/bubblebucky
Summary: Ella jerked awake with a gasp, and the sight that greeted her was not the one she closed her eyes to. A moment of thought made her realize that she wasn’t entirely sure what she had shut her eyes to, though, and trying to think about it made her head ache and her vision swim. Not only that, but her palm was glowing, a ragged green scar that seemed to create an eerie light of its own.aka an eight year old elven child ends up with the mark





	1. Chapter 1

Ella jerked awake with a gasp, and the sight that greeted her was not the one she closed her eyes to. A moment of thought made her realize that she wasn’t entirely sure what she had shut her eyes to, though, and trying to think about it made her head ache and her vision swim.

She was fairly certain it wasn’t this— _this_ , being what seemed to be a dungeon, dark and cold and lit only by a flickering torch, complete with shackles that were loose around her wrists and rubbed them uncomfortably. Her hand ached, too, like the way it did that time she burnt herself on a hot pan Mamae was using when she cooked. But this wasn’t a burn. Her palm was glowing, a ragged green scar that seemed to create an eerie light of its own, and she immediately closed her hand around it.

Where was Mamae? Ella wrenched her eyes from her closed fist to scan the rest of the room. Her eyes landed on a figure sprawled against the far wall, and her heart lifted in hope but then crashed down even heavier when she realized that it was a human man lying unconscious and chained, not her mother.

She wasn’t sure what to do. She could just sit there and wait, but she couldn’t remember what happened to land her in the cell, and her chest was starting to grow tight with worry as she wondered where her mother was. She could try waking the man—but shems were dangerous, and this one was even chained up in a dungeon. Then again, so was she. And she needed to know what was happening.

She took a breath and quietly tried, “Hello?”

No response. The man didn’t even twitch.

Ella rubbed at her shackles a little, biting her lip. Then she leaned forward and in a slightly louder voice, “Hello? Are you awake?”

A finger moved. Then, a groan. Ella watched as the man rolled onto his back, face scrunched into a grimace, and rubbed his head. Or, rather, tried to, but the shackles pulled his arm short, and his eyes shot open. Very quickly, the man sat up, and his gaze darted around the room, taking it all in, before they landed on her.

He blinked. “What’s going on?”

“I don’t know.” She’d been hoping he knew, but she was getting the feeling that this wasn’t the case. She tried anyway, saying, “Do you—do you know where we are? Have you seen my mom? Her name is Mahana. She works in the kitchens. She looks like me but bigger.”

The man furrowed his brows, squinted at her—and paled. “You’re just a kid.”

Ella frowned. “I’m eight years old.”

“Kinda my point,” he said, tugging on his chains. “Why do they have a _kid_ locked up in here? What’s happening? Are you okay?”

Ella opened her mouth, a _yes_ on her tongue, but her voice suddenly wasn’t working, and her throat was very tight. She ended up just nodding, and the man’s face softened a bit.

“Alright, honey, alright. I’m Maxwell. What’s your name?”

She swallowed and managed a soft, “Ella.”

“That’s a pretty name,” he said, smiling at her in the way Mamae sometimes did, when she didn't want Ella to be scared. “Don’t worry, Ella. We’ll talk to whoever’s in charge and get all this sorted out, and then we’ll find your mom, okay?”

Ella bit her lip, her stomach twisting. That seemed too simple. Something was wrong. How did she end up in the dungeon? Where was Mamae? “I—”

Suddenly, the door to the cell flew open, and a woman charged in. She had short, dark hair and an even darker scowl that landed on Ella but quickly swung to Maxwell. She moved like a predator, a sword hanging off her hip, her armor gleaming in the torchlight, and even Maxwell was affected, drawing back as she crossed the room to loom over him. Other people entered—some guards, a cloaked woman who moved like a snake—but Ella was mostly concerned with the warrior, who grasped the hilt of her sword and drew it half out of its scabbard, nearly lunging at Maxwell.

“Tell me why we shouldn’t kill you now,” she growled.

Ella imagined she likely looked twice as scared as Maxwell did, who was wide eyed on the floor, stuttering, “W-What—?”

“The Conclave is destroyed, everyone who attended is dead, except for you two.” Her scowl slid over to Ella, sharing that terrifying anger with her as well—but Ella’s mind had gone blank.

Maxwell was saying something. The woman was answering, voice sharp, but Ella couldn’t hear any of it. Just the rush of blood in her ears and her own small voice asking, “Everyone’s dead?”

They looked at her—Maxwell, the scary woman, the guards. All of them looked at her and said nothing, and Ella repeated, higher this time, slightly breathless, “What about Mamae? Where’s—where’s my Mamae?”

“Ella—” Maxwell started, low and probably trying to be soothing, but Ella shook her head vigorously, cutting him off.

“She can’t—what’s—where is she? What’s happening?” The world around her was blurring, and her chest was starting to ache like a gaping wound, and she didn’t know what was happening. She didn’t know these people, didn’t know where she was or how she got there, didn’t know why she was locked up. She was spiraling, down into somewhere dark and echoing and hopeless, and she would’ve continued to do so if her hand hadn’t suddenly been stabbed.

Not literally, though it certainly felt like it. Worse, even. That green mark that she’d pushed out of her mind suddenly flashed, and pain ripped through her palm, radiating up into her wrist and forearm like electricity. She let out a whine and curled over it, ears flattening against her head, eyes leaking, and the agony continued for what felt like years until it finally receded, leaving only the jagged memory of pain and a terrible fear within her.

She blinked away her tears and noticed the cloaked woman kneeling at her side with a hand on her shoulder. The angry woman stood in front of her, watching with a slightly more conflicted version of her scowl.

The angry woman demanded, “Do you know what that is?”

Ella shook her head, stomach rolling, and tears started to build up in her eyes again.

“Cassandra,” the cloaked woman snapped, almost berating, and Cassandra went silent, though her mouth was flat and displeased. Then the woman turned back to Ella and asked, voice gentle, “Do you remember what happened?”

She didn’t. It’s like there was a thick mist where her memories should have been, a severed end. All she remembered was being with her mom in the kitchen of the Temple, helping prepare—and then she remembered running. Things were chasing her, awful things that she couldn’t quite make out but that she knew were bad, and then a woman.

She relayed this to the others, and the cloaked woman’s eyes widened just a touch.

“A woman?” Her Orlesian accent was tinged with confusion. “What—”

“Enough. We can question the prisoners after,” Cassandra said. Her original scowl was back. “Go to the forward camp, Leliana. I will take her to the rift.”

Leliana nodded, eyes lingering on Ella, but then swept out of the room, the guards following in her wake. Ella watched as Cassandra unlocked her shackles and stared at the bruised, scraped skin that was revealed when she took them away.

Ella swallowed. “What about Maxwell?”

Cassandra’s eyes snapped to the man in question. Maxwell looked surprised by the attention but didn’t cower under her gaze, instead looking to Ella with furrowed brows and questioning eyes.

“He stays here,” Cassandra said after a moment.

“But—” Ella didn’t have a good explanation for why she wanted him to come. She just—she wanted her Mamae. And she was scared. And Cassandra terrified her. Maxwell, at least, was as confused as she was, and he was nice to her.

Her mouth clicked shut, unable to voice any of this, and Maxwell watched her for a moment longer before sighing.

“I can fight. Let me come—I can help keep Ella safe.”

Cassandra shook her head. “I don’t know—”

“She’s just a little girl,” he said, gesturing at her as much as he could in his shackles. His voice went low, serious. “She’s eight years old, Lady Seeker. She can’t fight.”

The sigh that Cassandra released spoke of the deep exhaustion she surely felt, and Ella’s stomach twisted in despair. She wished she could do something to help, but she needed help herself. Maxwell was right; she was just a kid. She can’t do anything.

Cassandra seemed to agree, because she said, “Very well,” in an almost resigned sort of way and unlocked Maxwell’s shackles as well. “But if either of you try something, I will end you both.”

Ella swallowed, wide eyed, and Maxwell nodded with a sigh and took her by the hand—the one without the mark.

“Alright, honey. Let’s go.”


	2. Chapter 2

She clung to Maxwell like her life depended on it, likely because it did.

From the moment she stepped out of the chantry, things started going downhill. Not that they were particularly good to start with, but as they walked through Haven, Ella was greeted with suspicion and hate, people spitting and glaring down at her like she was responsible for the great big hole in the sky. Which was something she was trying not to think about, among other things. If she let her mind linger on the gaping tear in the Veil coughing out demons and nightmares, she would inevitably return to the fact that she was being taken there—and that was enough to make her knees lock up and her breath go short.

So, she ignored it, pushing it away to deal with when she had somewhere safe to start thinking. And she stuck close to Maxwell’s side as the marched through Haven, and as the bridge fell down beneath them, and as demons popped up and attacked.

He was telling the truth when he told Cassandra he could fight. He was great with a sword, in Ella’s opinion, finding one on the ground and immediately swinging it around to cleave the approaching demon in two. Cassandra was on a whole different level, but Ella suspected she had superpowers or something similar, so it wasn’t really fair to compare them.

She had gotten nicer after they got out of the village, though, and she let Maxwell keep the sword. She also kept looking back to check and see if Ella was okay and even sounded rather sympathetic when she told Ella she was going to die from the mark on her hand.

That was another thing she was trying not to think about.

But yes, Ella was practically glued to Maxwell’s side as they followed Cassandra up the side of the mountain, gripping his hand as tightly as she could. He squeezed back every once in a while, sending her little smiles that reassured her only for as long as he was looking. Then, he’d turn back forward, and Ella’s stomach would once again begin to churn.

At least she wasn’t cold. At Maxwell’s insistence, Cassandra had found her a coat that was about a dozen sizes too large, which made it hard to move her arms, but it reached down to her knees and was woolen and thick, if a little musty, so she wasn’t complaining. She just had foot wrappings for her feet, but her toes never got cold. She thought it was because she was an elf. Mamae said—

Oh. Ella stumbled as she remembered, and Maxwell glanced down at her with his mouth pulled into a frown. She tried to smile at him, but she must not have done it right because Maxwell was slowing and opening his mouth to speak.

Before he could, though, Cassandra called out, “We’re getting close to the rift! You can hear them fighting!”

Both Maxwell’s and Ella’s eyes snapped forward, and then Maxwell was hauling her after Cassandra, actually lifting her off her feet as he followed up the steps.

He dropped her at the top, drawing his sword, and it was immediately clear why. Demons were pouring from a small version of the Breach, and even this thing, not a tenth of its size, was terrifying. It made her mark burn and pop with energy, and she had very little problem with following Maxwell’s instructions to stay back while he, Cassandra, and two others started killing all the demons.

They did so quickly, but the rift stayed open. It looked wild, nearly alive, pulsing and bulging like more were about to spill out, and Ella gasped as her mark flashed. It gained the attention of the bald elf who’d been fighting before, his eyes locking onto her with alarming intensity, and she barely had time to stumble back two steps before he was suddenly at her side.

“Quickly,” he said, grabbing her by her wrist and dragging her forward, “Before more come through!”

He then looped his arm around her waist and lifted her up, holding her marked hand towards the rift, and as if that’s what her mark had been waiting for, it flared to life. A beam of energy licked off from it, reaching out and connecting to the rift, and—all intelligent thought left her mind.

Suddenly, all she could think was, _it hurts it hurts it hurts my arm please it hurts_ as flames licked up her shoulder.

It was worse than what she experienced in the dungeon—so much worse. This felt like the mark was flooding her with energy, building and building heat that burnt like—like lightning, fizzing and popping and sizzling under her skin, and any moment it would burst and it’d all come rushing out.

The pressure got stronger for a moment, to the point where Ella was afraid that her arm would actually explode—and then, it stopped, leaving her hand blissfully numb and her ears ringing.

When the elf set her gently back on the ground, Maxwell was by her side in an instant, kneeling in front of her and wiping her face with his sleeve. He was hushing her quietly, and it was only then that Ella realized she was sobbing.

“Shh, honey, it’s okay, you’re okay,” Maxwell murmured as he tucked her into his chest, “You’re okay. You did so good, Ella, I’m so proud of you.”

“Shit,” the dwarf said from somewhere to her right. “What the hell’d you do, Chuckles?”

“I did nothing. The credit it hers.” The elf’s words were collected, but his voice wavered, betraying some internal conflict. “I theorized that the mark on her hand would be able to close the rifts. It seems I was correct.”

“Yeah, but… shit, she’s just a kid.”

The elf sighed, and his voice was slightly quieter as he said, “Indeed.”

Maxwell pulled away, then, bringing Ella’s attention back to him. Her sobbing had slowed once she became aware of it and eventually tapered off into heavy sniffs and hiccups. Between gasps, she managed to say, “S-Sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Maxwell replied fiercely and immediately.

Ella wanted to argue—she shouldn’t have cried, shouldn’t have delayed them, shouldn’t have that mark in the first place—but she was too tired. She nodded.

Maxwell watched her for a minute longer, then sighed, ruffling her hair and getting back to his feet. He kept a hand on her shoulder as he turned to the elf and told him coldly, “Don’t do that again.”

“What? Show her how to close a rift? I imagine she will not forget.” The derision—for what, Ella wasn't sure—in his words seemed to rub Maxwell the wrong way, because his face twisted into a glare.

“If you touch her—”

“Hey, it’s not polite to fight in front of a lady,” the dwarf interrupted, stepping forward and giving Ella a wink and a shallow bow. “Varric Tethras. Rogue, story teller, and occasionally unwelcome tagalong.”

Ella’s mouth curled into a half-smile, and she shook her head, rubbing at her wet nose. “I’m not a lady; I’m an elf.”

“So’s Chuckles, but he still wears tights,” Varric replied, and Ella let a few damp giggles escape before she could stop herself.

“It’s nice to meet you, Ser Tethras,” Ella said.

In a dry voice, the elf said, “I’m sure you’ll reconsider that stance in time. My name is Solas, if there are to be introductions. I am pleased to see you still live.”

Varric elbowed him in the hip. "He means that he took care of you when you were napping."

"Oh," she said, and her eyes slid down to the mark on her trembling hand. Her smile faltered. "It's okay. I know I'm dying."

Maxwell's hand tightened on her shoulder, and his face, when she looked up at him, was flat and unhappy. He was glaring at the Breach, the green light gleaming against his shiny eyes. Solas' ears twitched, Cassandra looked away, and Varric's smirk completely dissolved.

"It's fine," but her voice wavered, "I just—Lady Seeker said that I might be able to close the Breach. I hope I can do that much."

Silence was the only response as the others took that in. Ella curled her toes in the snow and tugged at her too-long sleeves, waiting, until Varric finally cleared his throat.

"All right," he said, with joviality that Ella could tell was forced, and he swung his crossbow, nearly as big as she was, onto his shoulder, "Well, Bianca and l would be happy to escort you, little lady."

"Absolutely not," Cassandra snapped, stepping forward and fixing Varric with her glare. "I brought you in to testify, but now—"

"Now, the sky's torn open, the valley is full of demons, and your men are overrun," Varric finished, leaning forward with a challenge coloring his tone; Cassandra must have heard it, too, because her face grew only darker. "You need me, Seeker."

"I do not—"

"Lady Seeker, can we really afford to turn down his help?" Maxwell finally spoke up. The others' eyes snapped to him, and Ella turned to see him looking at Cassandra with something tired and frustrated and determined all at once in his face.

Cassandra opened her mouth, clearly set to argue, but then her eyes flickered down to Ella, and it shut once more. Ella watched as the fight seemed to drain out of her, making her look like she was carrying a hundred pounds on each shoulder, and Cassandra sighed. "Very well."

Varric walked beside Ella as they went, Maxwell at her other side, Cassandra heading the group, and Solas, who ended up coming along as well, bringing up the back. Varric didn't try to talk to her all that much, which she appreciated—though he did inform her, with a fond pat to the weapon, that Bianca was his crossbow. She was so tired, and her arm hurt, and her nose was stuffed from her crying fit—and she knew that there were more rifts to close to make it hurt so bad all over again, and that fear was making her stumble and quake.

Instead, Varric was questioning Maxwell, who was leading her along by a hand once more. Maxwell still didn't remember anything, either, something Varric prodded him about some more, but Ella wasn't surprised. She still had that big empty spot in her memory, too.

Varric went beyond that, though. He found out that Maxwell was attending on behalf of his family—a noble as well as a shem, and if Mamae were to see her holding his hand, she'd faint—and that he was the youngest of his siblings. Maxwell was from Ostwick, which was much farther than Ella's ever been, and his family was big in the Chantry. Ella listened to all this with as much interest as she could muster, letting it distract her from the throbbing of her hand and the way her legs felt like large rocks were strapped to them, until she was started out of her reverie by Cassandra's sudden shout.

"Demons ahead!"

Maxwell immediately pushed Ella behind him and drew his sword. Solas readied his staff, and Varric hefted up Bianca, calling as he did so, "Glad you brought me now, Seeker?"

Ella was. Around Maxwell's legs, she could make out the demons, bubbling and grotesque and terrifying, and Varric, with his cocky demeanor and very large crossbow, definitely was appreciated. Even so, as the demons turned towards them, Ella's breath caught in her throat, and she grabbed onto the bottom of Maxwell's shirt desperately.

"It's okay, Ella," he said, not looking at her, and Ella didn't believe him at all.

She squeezed her eyes shut as Cassandra let out a battle-cry and lunged forward, as Varric's crossbow started sending bolts out rapid-fire, as magic crackled through the air from Solas' staff—and her grip on Maxwell's shirt only tightened as she started hearing the growls and groans of demons in response.

Maxwell stayed tense under her hands. She could feel it; his muscles all strained, ready to move, and it had her coiling up, starting to shake even harder, poised to run at any moment. The noise of battle got louder—Varric whooped, Cassandra grunted, some demons howled—and then Solas' voice sounded over it all.

"There's another rift! She must seal it!"

Ella's stomach dropped to her feet. She felt Maxwell move under her hands, and it was enough to make her force her eyes back open. He turned to her, and his face was blurry—everything was, impossible to see properly through her tears. If she was shaking before, then she was vibrating now, knees literally knocking together as Solas' words registered in her mind.

Another rift. She wasn't sure if she could handle the pain again; she didn't want to. Please, no. Please, she didn't want to. The plea got lodged in her chest, and she was suffocating around it, unable to voice the words, unable to move, just staring as Maxwell looked at her with his smudged face and said her name softly.

Behind him, across the field, she could see the rift hissing and sparking, already tugging at the awful mark on her hand. Please, _please,_ no.

"Ella," Maxwell was saying, and she blinked and tears spilled over her cheeks, and his face came back into focus, all creased with desperation and despair. "Honey, I'm sorry, you have to. I'm sorry."

Ella sobbed, and she forced herself to nod.

Then Maxwell was scooping her up in one arm, sword held in his other hand, and he raced towards the rift. Cassandra, Varric, and Solas did well at keeping the demons away, and Maxwell was just as skilled at avoiding them and forcing them to remain at bay with a swing of his sword. Ella just clung to his chest for dear life as he ran, feeling the awful burn of energy rising up in her hand as they drew up beneath the rift.

Somewhere behind them, another demon howled, and Cassandra's voice called out, "Close it!"

Maxwell must have dropped the sword; suddenly, there were two hands supporting Ella, lifting her and holding her up at the rift, and she flung forwards her marked hand—

It connected.

And Ella didn't know what exactly happened, just that she ended up in Maxwell's lap, and there was vomit on the snow in front of them, her throat hurt, she couldn't stop crying, her arm ached something terrible, and the rift was closed.

"I'm sorry," Maxwell choked into her hair, his arms around her frantic. "It's over, honey. You're okay. I promise, you're okay."

Ella didn't reply. Couldn't really, because she couldn't find the breath to between her sobs, between the wails that escaped her because it hurt and she was scared and she didn't want to do this anymore and she wanted her Mamae.

"You're okay, honey," Maxwell told her, and she knew he was lying.


	3. Chapter 3

Ella kept her face hidden as everyone argued. She wasn’t crying anymore—instead, she trembled finely against Maxwell’s shoulder, too tired to do much more. She could barely make out the words being said, mostly just hearing the vague noises of an argument, of people snapping and shouting. Maxwell’s chest vibrated as he spoke, some decision made, and then she was tugged away from his shoulder.

Maxwell’s face blurred for a moment before coming into focus, and keeping it there was a struggle. Ella was tired in her bones; all the energy had been sucked out of her, leaving her all scooped out inside. She could barely bring herself to grasp the words he was saying to her, but she managed only because she knew he was worried.

“You with me, honey? You okay?”

“Yes,” she tried to say, but it came out raspy and weak so she had to try harder as she repeated, “Yes.”

Maxwell didn’t seem convinced. He was watching her under furrowed eyebrows, and Ella only stared back for a few moments before letting her eyes wander to the camp they were in—crates and rubble and what she feared were bodies stacked in haphazard piles, people moving with urgency but little direction. She noticed that red-haired lady from the dungeon—Leliana—heading out the gates with a group of soldiers and watched as her purple cloak disappears from sight. She noticed that Cassandra was watching the same.

Maxwell said her name again, and she swung her eyes back over to him.

“Is it okay if Solas takes a look at you?” he asked. Ella didn’t reply right away, hesitant only because of that first time he made her close a rift—though she knew that wasn’t his fault, and it’s stupid for her to hold it against him. Still, Maxwell seemed to understand her hesitance—seemed to agree, at least in part—but still said, almost as if against his own desires, “He’s the one who helped you before. If anyone can keep you—can make you feel better, it’s him.”

Ella turned her head to where she could almost feel Solas waiting. He stood a few feet back with his hands held behind him, face all smooth and kind-looking, unassuming. When she blinked at him, he inclined his head in a nod, as if confirming Maxwell’s words.

Again, she rasped her agreement.

Maxwell tensed as Solas stepped closer; she could feel it. Her own hands tightened on his shirt as Solas reached forward, but he stopped before his hands touched her at all.

Then, in his voice like noblemen’s silk, he asked, “May I see your marked hand?”

Ella was tense, but she released Maxwell’s shirt from her grip and held out her hand. Solas gave her a smile that softened his whole face—she liked him better like that—and gingerly took hold of her arm in one hand, the other hovering close to the mark.

She flinched when his hand suddenly emitted a cool lavender light, especially when it made her mark flash—but the pain that typically followed such a flash never came; instead, a creamy sort of cold that seeped through her arm and soothed the burning that’d never really left. Eventually, the only part of her that still hurt was the short gash in her hand, still angry and pulsing green, but that was still so much better.

When Solas finally pulled away, Ella flexed her fingers and then looked up to him, beaming. “Thank you!”

Something flashed across Solas’ face—grief, guilt, pain; Ella wasn’t sure—but it was quickly replaced by a smile that showed a glimpse of white teeth and wrinkles around his eyes. “Of course.”

“Look at that, all fixed up.” Varric watched from a few steps away, relieved. His grin had lost some of its forced quality and seemed to sit more comfortably on his face, and he barked a laugh as Ella gave him a thumbs-up.

Maxwell shifted his grip on her, and she turned back to see him smiling at her—but his smile wasn’t quite so relieved as Varric’s, still a bit strained around his eyes. It grew gentler, though, when she reached up to poke his cheek, and he let out a chuckle before reaching up with his free hand to poke hers in return.

Then Cassandra said, “We must move on.”

She sounded almost regretful, though, her eyes conflicted and her mouth downturned as she ushered them along. Ella gave her a smile, too, something that Cassandra met with surprise. As Maxwell let out a rough sigh and started forwards, Cassandra mustered up the faintest of smiles to offer Ella as he carried her by.

The mountain path was steep and difficult. Were Maxwell not carrying her, Ella was sure she would’ve been stuck at the bottom. As it was, though, Maxwell cradled her firmly to his chest with one arm for about half the trek; the rest she spent with her arms wrapped around his neck in a piggyback ride, feet tucked into his belt. It made climbing the ladders a good deal easier with both his arms free.

They killed demons. They found scouts. They also found some corpses, though Varric and Solas positioned themselves in front of them so Ella didn’t catch much more than a glimpse. The lieutenant thanked Cassandra emphatically—then Maxwell, then Ella, which was very odd—and then they continued on.

Ella bounced against Maxwell’s back as they marched forward, eyes half-open, cheek resting against the base of his neck. The others were quiet as they walked—Varric complained every once in a while, which made Cassandra let out a disgusted sort of grunt that never failed to make Ella giggle, but otherwise even he was silent—and that made the tell-tale echoing crack and unnatural whine that suddenly rolled across the landscape impossible to miss.

Another rift. Cassandra announced it with a grim voice and a grimmer face as she turned back to fix Ella with a look. Varric swallowed, fingers tightening around Bianca, and Solas’ face was pulled into a frown. Maxwell was tense as she cringed into him.

But there was no other option. Maxwell kissed her forehead before they began.

Connection. Pain. Screaming—

She blinked back into consciousness in Maxwell’s arms. He was hunched over her, holding her too tight, and he was shaking. No, he was crying, and the sobs were wracking through him in a way that shook his whole body. Ella could feel the tears drop down onto her neck, and she tried to say his name.

All that came out was a croak. Still, it was enough to get Maxwell’s attention; he snapped his head up and saw her eyes open and watching him, and his face—reddened and tear-streaked—lit up in relief.

“Thank you, thank you,” he choked out, hugging her to him like he was afraid she’d disappear. She pressed her face gratefully into his neck, still raw and immensely heavy. The energy boost Solas had given her earlier was gone, now. “She’s alive. She’s alive.”

“Thank the Maker.” That came from Cassandra, who, as Ella sluggishly blinked up at her, was standing a few feet away with red-rimmed eyes and a damp face.

Varric was beside her, with a dry face but shiny eyes. He looked—relieved but also still scared. When he noticed Ella watching, he tried to pin on a smile, but it was weak and fell away quickly. Still, he said, “Good to see those pretty eyes of yours, little lady.”

Blinking was like walking a mile. Smiling like ten. She did both, though, even if it took much longer than usual to force her eyes open and bring the corners of her mouth up. Her voice was wrecked, raspy and sore and feeble. “‘M not a lady.”

She punctuated that statement with a cough as her burning throat protested, and Maxwell hushed her while stroking her hair until she got it under control. Varric’s smile had completely disappeared by then, and Solas’ mouth was pressed in a flat line. He was very determinedly looking at the ground instead of her.

Cassandra, though, stepped forward, offering Maxwell a waterskin, which he took without a word. His broad hand cupped the back of Ella’s head and helped her sit up, and he tipped the water into her mouth. It felt incredible, like what she imagined a potion might taste like. Against her throat, sensitive from throwing up and screaming and crying and whatever else she managed to do in her blackouts, the water was a soothing balm that instantly relieved some of the pain.

She gulped down as much as Maxwell allowed her, but he was taking it slow. She wished he would go faster, but she couldn’t make him; she barely had the energy to swallow, much less lift a hand to force him to hurry up.

She did, however, let out a whimper in protest as he pulled away the skin, and Maxwell huffed with a twitch of his mouth in response.

“Yeah, yeah. Demanding little thing, aren’t you?”

Ella stuck out her tongue. His answering laugh was worth the effort it took.

He handed the waterskin back to Cassandra, and Ella’s eyes followed it longingly. Then, her eyes were drawn just past it, where a human man approached.

He was blond, tall, wearing a large furry coat. He carried a heavy air of exhaustion and relief with him as he held his sword—large and gleaming with theblack goop that comes out of demons—loose at his side. He also spared the rest of them only the briefest of glances before locking onto Cassandra.

“You managed to close the rift. Well done.”

Cassandra winced. She tucked the waterskin into her belt. “Do not congratulate me, Commander. This is the—this is Ella’s doing.”

“Ella?” The Commander followed Cassandra’s gesture to where Ella was held in Maxwell’s lap, and his face went white. He turned back to Cassandra, demanding, “You brought her out here?”

Cassandra’s face was grim. “We had no other choice. She has the mark; she can close rifts.”

“Yes, but—Maker,” the Commander’s mouth twisted, his eyebrows furrowing. His hand tightened around the hilt of his sword, and he took a deep breath that he let out as a sigh as his eyes flickered briefly back to Ella, “She’s so young. How can we—”

He cut himself off, shaking his head, and Ella watched as his face went hard and his jaw set. She didn’t like this look much, didn’t like the way they talked about her like she wasn’t there, like she wasn’t aware she was—well, she was trying not to think about it.

Seeing faces like his, though, so dark and sure that she had no hope to survive, made it harder to ignore. She could feel it in her bones, her impending death. She could feel it pulsing on her hand. The horror of it was constantly creeping at her, and she kept shoving back at it, down to the places she didn’t look. But expressions like _that_ on other people’s faces made the horror creep faster and faster.

“Never mind,” he said, stepping back, “The path to the Breach should be clear. Leliana is waiting.”

“Then we best move quickly,” Cassandra said, turning back to them. Maxwell’s grip around her tightened. “Give us time, Commander.”

The Commander nodded, but his eyes, almost unwittingly, seemed drawn back to Ella. He seemed to hesitate for a moment before saying, “Maker watch over you, for all our sakes.”

Ella blinked, swallowing against the pain that remained in her throat, and watched him turn away. She watched him as Maxwell kissed her forehead. She watched him as Maxwell scooped her back up. She watched him as they began to trot away, looking over Maxwell’s shoulder to stare at the Commander’s back as they moved towards the temple.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no proofreading we update like men


	4. Chapter 4

“Good. You’re here.” Leliana was waiting for them at the temple, just like Cassandra said. Or, rather, what was left of the temple.

Ella could remember what it looked like. Stone walls that were smooth with age, towering far above her head. Banners hanging on the walls, all the shocking Chantry crimson, golden suns gleaming richly in the torchlight.

She remembered the kitchens, dim and warm and smelly. The servants’ quarters, which were damp and cold, but cozy when they all snuggled close under their blankets. She remembered the cats that would slink around outside, the mice that scared the Sisters so bad, the mabari named Ruby that had puppies a few weeks back.

She remembered Jaila and Geron, Neras and Linne, and the one brown-haired Sister that would smile at her when Ella brought her supper. She remembered the head cook, mean as she was. She remembered the nobles that would come to visit, the ones that would scowl down at her, the ones that would ignore her, the ones that gave her the heated looks that her Mamae warned her about. She remembered the rush of people that flooded the temple in the last month.

She looked at the ruins of the temple around her, and she knew they were all dead. All of them. Jaila and Geron and Neras and Linne and Ruby and the cook and the Sisters and the nobles and the people and—and her Mamae—

Dead. All of them dead.

All of them part of the ashes that blanket the ground at Maxwell’s feet. The crumbled remains of the walls blackened with them. The air thick and dusty with them.

Ella remembered what the temple looked like before, and she would always remember what it looked like after. She could feel it being burnt into her wide eyes as she looked around in sickened awe, gaping as the others took part in a discussion she couldn’t hear around her own panting breaths.

Dead. Dead. Dead. And all because of the mark on her hand.

With that thought, she stretched her hand out in front of her, turning her palm over, staring at the green maw stretched across her skin, shaking. Her hand was shaking, as was the rest of her.

That mark came from all this. Of the whole temple, of all that was within it, all that emerged was that mark.

And, of course, Ella.

Why? Why did she survive? Out of all the people, why her? Why did the mark attach to her hand, decide she was the one who could close rifts?

She didn’t want it. She didn’t want any of it. Not the mark, not the power, not the life away from her Mamae and everyone else she loved. Whoever gave it to her—they could have it back. She didn’t want it. She didn’t want to be alone. All she wanted was her Mamae, but her Mamae was dead along with everyone else who was in that stupid temple—

“Ella?” Maxwell’s voice cut through the thick fog she’d settled into, reminding Ella of something.

All that emerged was that mark and Ella—and Maxwell, too. He was still around. Not only that, but he was holding her, tugging her so he could look at her with concern coloring his face.

Ella blinked and looked around; everyone was concerned, actually. And they were all watching her.

Maxwell said her name again, and she snapped back to him. His brows were furrowed as he asked, “Are you with me?”

Around the knot in her throat, she swallowed and nodded. Her response didn’t seem to alleviate any of his worries.

Still, he asked, “Are you ready?”

She would ask what she ought to be ready for, but she already knew without having listened to them speak. Only one thing could have them all looking so grim. Only one thing could have her hand suddenly throbbing. Only one thing was splitting the sky open above them, a terrible green mouth in the sky that rippled at the edges as if hungry.

The Breach.

Ella didn’t think she’d ever be ready for that. Just the little rifts had her collapsing, but this—this was bigger than anything she’d ever seen. The little rifts meant nothing in the face of the Breach. The answer to Maxwell’s question was a clear, resounding _no._

But that wasn’t really an option.

So Ella, even as terror strangled her, nodded. No, she was not ready to close the Breach, but she was at least ready to try.

Maxwell let out a shuddering breath, shut his eyes, and pressed his lips to her forehead. Then he pulled back and nodded. He seemed steadier. He looked to Cassandra with a face set in determination.

“We’re ready. Let’s go while that lasts.”

“Wait.” Cassandra’s eyes were glossy as she looked from Maxwell to Ella. Her jaw clenched so hard it looked like it hurt as she took a deep breath in through her nose, and she stepped forward, gazing down at Ella with serious, pained eyes. Then she cleared her throat, said, "Thank you, Ella. You have shown remarkable bravery, far more than should have been asked of you. I—I am sorry.”

Ella understood. She did. Cassandra had been scared and angry, and that’s why she yelled before. Now, she was apologizing to Ella for that—and for what comes next.

Ella understood. And still a not small part of her wanted to scream and shout and cry, because she was just a kid, and this wasn’t fair, and she wanted to go home. She was tired and she was scared and she didn’t want to do this.

But she understood, so instead she forced herself to speak, though her voice was barely audible, “It’s okay. I’ll try my best.”

To Ella's surprise, Cassandra’s face crumpled, and she turned away quickly, a hand coming up to scrub at her face. She made a noise in the back of her throat and stepped away.

Then, Solas came forward in her place. His face was smooth but strained, like he was only barely maintaining that mask, and Ella realized this was it. They were taking their chances to say goodbye, because—because she was going to die.

The horror was here at last. The shadow that had been creeping up at her since she woke up in the Chantry’s dungeon, clawing at the edges of her consciousness, growing stronger every time the mark ripped her apart to close a rift—it was here. It was above their heads, waiting to swallow Ella and the world up.

Solas came forward, and he blurred as Ella’s eyes filled with tears.

"I am…" Solas paused as his voice wavered, then he said, "Ir abelas, da'len."

She didn't know the first part, but she knew _da'len_ meant child. Her Mamae would call her that sometimes, but only when there were no humans around to hear her speaking elvhen.

Her Mamae. Ella's chest felt like someone had poured metal shavings into it, but after a moment where the weight of loss made her lungs clench, it suddenly abated with a thought: _I'll see her again soon._

Just a final push, just one more round of pain, and then she'll be with Mamae again. She was afraid, yes, but—at least, in the end, she had something to look forward to. At least it would not go on forever.

So, with a calm that she hadn't felt since she woke up in the cell, she gave Solas a smile that pulled at the salt-sticky skin of her face. "Thank you, hahren."

His eyes widened briefly, and then he schooled his face once more with a nod. She thought she caught a glimpse of grief sliding over his features as he stepped back, but she didn't mention it.

Leliana next. She did not look nearly so upset as everyone else. Her face was perfectly composed as she waited to move, bow held ready at her side, but she gave Ella a nod when she looked to her.

Finally, Varric. He set a hand on her ankle, warm and calloused, and his eyes were bright and wet on top of his smile. But he was smiling, and he kept smiling as he squeezed her ankle and said, “Alright, little lady, let’s go fix up the sky.”

And then they were going. Ella, still in Maxwell’s arms. Cassandra and Leliana in front of them, Varric and Solas behind. With every step forward, Ella’s hand itched more and her heart beat faster. She tried to keep her breathing in time with Maxwell’s, because he was calm, slow and steady amidst the chaos that seemed to increase the closer they drew to the Breach.

He’s what she focused on. As her hand and arm began to feel like hundreds of fire ants were crawling all over it, biting and stinging, she gripped onto his shirt. As the sky flashed and began calling out visions of her and Maxwell in a place she didn’t remember, saying things she never said, she turned to his composed face instead. As she used her mark to open the Breach and demons came pouring out, terrible and proud and monstrous, she stayed behind him and found safety in every swing of his sword.

And when, at last, the pride demon fell and everyone turned to Ella, she looked up to him, and he gave her a gentle smile, and he told her, “You can do this, Ella.”

That, she thought, was what gave her the strength to take a final breath and throw her hand up to the sky. His smile, and the knowledge that she’d be seeing her Mamae again soon.

Her mark connected with the Breach, and suddenly the world around her was howling.

Everything was that bright and terrible green, everything burning, everything hurt. She felt herself screaming, but she couldn't hear it over the whine of the Breach as it lashed out against her, pouring fire into her hand to travel up her wrist and arm and shoulder to the rest of her.

The light grew brighter, brighter, until even with her eyes squeezed shut, she could see it green and blinding and all around her, and it grew brighter, and her body screamed, and it grew brighter, and she wished it would just stop—


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((I absolutely did not even read over this sooooooo uhhhh yea enjoy))

She woke up, and for a few blissful moments she didn't remember anything. For just a few moments, she laid in bed and wondered if Mamae was already awake, wondered what they had to do today, wondered if she'd be allowed to pick flowers if she finished work early.

Then, she felt the foreign ache of her hand, a soreness in her limbs that couldn't have come from ferrying supplies, and it all came crashing back down on her. The memory of Mamae's death hit her like a backhand, leaving her stunned and blinking back tears. All of a sudden there was a weight on her chest, suffocating, because Mamae was dead, along with Jaila and Geron and Neras and Linne—

She wasn't supposed to be alive. She was supposed to have died. It was supposed to be _over_.

"Oh! You're awake!" There was a small crash, and Ella, jarred out of her thoughts, sat up to see an elf woman desperately trying to gather up the clothes she spilled from the basket.

Ella watched her carefully for a moment, grasping at the blanket in her lap, and then it hit her. “You’re Panora.”

"Pardon me?" Panora asked, refusing to look up at Ella, hands shaking as they fumbled the basket. "I mean—yes, Mistress. That's my name."

Ella frowned. "Don't you recognize me?"

"Of course, Mistress; you're the Herald of Andraste."

"What? No. It's me, Ella. M-Mahana's daughter."

Panora's eyes snapped up at last and suddenly went very wide. Recognition flooded her face, and she breathed, "Oh, my."

"You knew my Mamae, right?" Ella asked, throat starting to ache. "Did she—do you know if she might have escaped?"

"I—" Panora floundered from her place on the ground, still staring at Ella. She looked terribly uncomfortable, mouth opening and closing soundlessly, and Ella knew what she was going to say as she struggled to find words. Still, she couldn't help but flinch when Panora said, "I don't know. I didn't know Mahana that well, but," she paused, eyes dropping, "I doubt she would have gone anywhere without you."

Ella nodded. Yes, she knew that. She didn't know why she asked. She just hoped—well. She shouldn’t have.

"What about the Breach? Is it…?"

"Closed? No, Mist—er, no. But it's no longer spreading or releasing demons."

Disappointment warred with shame inside Ella. Of course, she didn't close it. She couldn't even do that. Not even that one thing.

Swallowing, she asked, "What about Maxwell?"

"Maxwell?" Panora repeated, tilting her head, until her eyes widened. "Oh! You mean Lord Trevelyan. He lives."

That didn't tell her much, but it did let a knot she hadn't realized was stuck in her chest loosen. Ella nodded, ears twitching, not sure what to say next.

"I am glad you are well." Panora dropped her eyes once more as she got to her feet. She set the basket of clothes at the end of the bed Ella was in, and she hesitated. "The Lady Seeker told me to let her know when you awoke. At once, she said. She is waiting for you at the Chantry."

With that, Panora left, shutting the door quietly behind her, leaving Ella alone in the quiet of the cabin she woke up in.

Ella could feel despair crawling nearer, making her breathing waver and her hands tremble, and she half wanted to give in and finally release the awful pressure that she could feel building up in her chest—but Panora said Cassandra wanted her, and so after a few moments of sitting in bed, shaking, she slipped out from beneath the covers.

She looked at the basket of clothes that Panora left, but they were odd and looked uncomfortable, and Ella didn't want to wear them. Instead, she stayed in the long woolen nightgown someone had dressed her in. It was warm, and warmer still after Ella found that same too-large coat from earlier and pulled that on over it. She wrapped her feet as best she could—not too well, since her Mamae hadn't yet taught her how to do it properly—and took a breath. Then, she stepped outside.

Immediately, she regretted doing so.

Everyone was looking at her. As soon as she closed the cabin door behind her, all the people walking around outside—humans and elves alike—stopped. Their eyes snapped to her and remained, wide and awe-filled, and Ella couldn't help but immediately shrink back under their stares, back pressed up against the wooden door.

She froze, thoughts going in the same loop of _don't draw attention don't draw attention don't draw_ —and it had her simultaneously wanting to run as far away as fast as she could and to disappear into the shadows. Instead, she stood paralyzed at the door, each stare a nail pinning her to the wall.

That is, until a familiar voice called out, "Oh, the little lady has awaken."

Ella's eyes snapped over to see Varric approaching, and she nearly went limp with relief. She scittered over to him, gluing herself to his side, which he took with good humor, wrapping an arm around her slim shoulders and pulling her in closer.

"Are you supposed to be out of bed?" he asked, herding her away from the crowd, back behind some cabins. His face was lined and soft with concern, his eyes like butterscotch as he smiled at her. "Not that I'm not happy to see you out and about, Ladybug, but you gave us a real scare."

Ella blinked. Her hand throbbed quietly. "Cassandra wanted to see me in the Chantry. At once."

Varric rolled his eyes. "Of course, she did. Couldn't have possibly come to you." He sighed and squeezed her shoulders. "Trevelyan's going to be mad you woke up while he was gone."

"I didn't mean to," she said, ears twitching nervously, and Varric seemed to realize his mistake.

"Not at you, at himself," Varric paused, "well, Cassandra, too. But you don't have to worry about that. C'mon, let's get you something to eat."

"I—" Ella stumbled as Varric started to guide her forwards, thoughts immediately circling back to the reason she came out in the first place. "I'm supposed to go see Cassandra."

"She can wait." Varric's reply came quickly. "You just woke up. Surely the Seeker wouldn't want you to starve?"

Probably not. But she also probably wouldn't be happy if Ella disobeyed orders. She knew how humans got—then again, would Varric be cross if she disobeyed him? She snuck a look at him as they marched through the village, but his face was still in the mild smirk it always was.

He hadn't gotten mad at her yet, but she also hadn't give him any cause to. She couldn't decide. Pushing seemed too dangerous. Maybe… maybe Cassandra won't be cross with her if she finds out? Maybe she'll blame Varric—but Ella didn't want him to get in trouble, either. He was smart and strong, and he carried himself like a noble, but he was also a dwarf. Not human.

Ella knew how that usually turned out.

She dug her heels into the ground, tugging away from Varric, and this time he let go. He turned to face her, eyebrows raising, and she opened and closed her mouth a few times before she could find her voice.

When she did, it was weaker than she would've liked. "I'm s-supposed to go to the Chantry, Ser Tethras."

He frowned. "Ladybug, you don't have to go right away—"

"She said at once." Ella snapped her mouth shut after she interrupted him, waiting with her eyes glued to the ground.

He watched her for a moment, clearly unhappy, but then he sighed. "Alright. Fine, we'll see what the Seeker wants. Trevelyan will be happy to see you, too; he's been trapped there all morning."

Varric started forwards again, this time in a different direction, and Ella followed after him. She kept her eyes on his back as they walked, ignoring the stares and murmurs of people around her.

It was different than the last time she walked through Haven. Then, people hated her; now, she wasn't sure. It was weird. Whatever it was, she was positive it wasn't going to end well for her. Attention was never a good thing, no matter how it may feel at first. She learned that plenty of times.

She recognized the Chantry as they approached it. It was the tallest building in the village, and one of the only ones made out of stone rather than wood. The guards next to the doors opened them, bowing to—Varric, probably, as they approached.

Though, it wasn't to Varric that they said, "Maker guide you, Herald."

Ella stumbled as they crossed over the threshold, saved only by Varric grabbing her by the back of her coat before she could go down. He chuckled a little and said, "Yeah, they decided you're the Herald of Andraste. You know, since you saved everyone."

"I d-didn't do anything—"

"The entirety of Haven begs to differ," Varric said, not unkindly, and patted her back, "and so would I. You stopped the rift from swallowing the world. That's something."

"But…" There were many arguments she could have given. She's a servant. She's an elf. She's a child. She didn't even close the Breach. She's not a herald of anything, much less Andraste. She's just Ella.

Those words didn't come so easily, though. All she could do was stand there, frowning and small under Varric's gaze, until someone's voice cut across the room.

"Ella!"

She turned and was caught up in someone's arms before she could even blink. She tensed, even knowing it was Maxwell who held her. After all, he might be cross; he probably wanted a chance to punish her for not properly closing the Breach as soon as she woke up, and she'd gone ahead and waited until he was away to do so.

Feeling her tense, Maxwell pulled back slightly, until Ella could see his face staring down at her. His golden skin was pale with a lack of sleep, deep shadows beneath tired green eyes, brown hair tousled and messy. She could see the smile draining from his face as anxiety slid in its place, and his next words were spoken urgently.

"Are you hurt? I'm sorry, honey. I shouldn't have grabbed you."

It's not what she expected him to say. He set her back on her feet gingerly, like he was placing a fancy teapot, and hovered his hands like he was afraid to hurt her.

Before she could think, she blurted out, "You're not mad?"

"Mad?" Maxwell reeled back like he'd been hit. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "Why would I be mad?"

Ella's ears twitched. Her lip wobbled. Her voice was weak as she said, "'Cause I didn't close the B-Breach."

Something dawned on Maxwell's face. Ella squeezed her eyes shut, preparing for the inevitable now that she had reminded him.

But no hit came. No buckle clinking open or growl of frustration.

Instead, Maxwell said, "Oh, honey," and he knelt down to hug her.

Ella went stiff at first, but the arms around her never tightened, and she gradually relaxed into the embrace. She let her head fall forwards into his neck. She let her hands grasp onto his shirt desperately. She took a shuddering breath in.

Then, she released it in a sob.

And Maxwell never got mad. He didn't grab her, or hit her, or anything. He didn't even tell her to stop crying even though they were in the middle of the Chantry, surrounded by humans. He let her cry into his neck and quietly murmured soothing things into her hair and waited for her to finish.

"It's okay, Ella, it's okay. No one's angry. I'm so proud of you. You did so good. No one's angry, honey."

It seemed too good to be true, but she let him say it anyway. She let herself hope. And she let herself cry, just for a little while, because Maxwell said it was okay. Then, when she felt like she might be able to handle being okay again, she choked back the rest of her sobs and forced herself to take deep, shuddering breaths that soon grew to be less shuddering.

Then, she peeked up.

The Chantry was mostly empty, now. She hadn't noticed everyone leave. The only people who remained were Maxwell, who still held her; Varric, who she could see hovering just beside her; and four others. She recognized Cassandra and Leliana, and the Commander, too, after a moment of squinting. There was also another woman, dressed in clothes that had Ella immediately pinning her as a noble. They all seemed to be watching her with the same sort of concern as Maxwell.

She hoped.

"Are you okay now, Ella?" Maxwell asked, once she had finally finished calming down.

She nodded. "Yes."

"Okay." He pressed a kiss to her forehead, and then he carefully detached and rose to his feet, though he kept a hand on her shoulder. He addressed the four others. "If we are finished, I'd like to take Ella back for a nap. I can explain things to her later."

Ella hadn't realized how tired she was, but now that Maxwell mentioned it, she was suddenly yearning to get back in bed. It was odd; she'd just woken up.

"We need to speak to her—" Cassandra began, stepping forward, but Varric interrupted her.

"Yeah, she got the message apparently. Because she refused to eat or drink before coming to you, Seeker. She seemed to be under the impression that these matters were more urgent than the fact that she hadn't eaten in three days." Varric's voice was caustic, his face unimpressed as he crossed burly arms over his chest.

Three days? That was awhile. It explained why the hunger gnawing in her stomach was so intense; it wasn't usually that bad.

Cassandra's mouth clicked shut. She looked somewhat cowed, though she showed it in a glower in Varric's direction.

The woman Ella didn't recognize stepped forward, then, her voice carrying an unfamiliar accent as she said, "Of course, the Herald should eat immediately. And then take some time to rest," she turned to Ella, bowing slightly and meeting her gaze with warm brown eyes and a gentle smile, "I am Jospehine Montilyet. Thank you for your help. I do hope we can get to know each other once you are feeling better."

Ella's mouth opened and closed. She nodded, shifting closer to Maxwell's leg.

"Very well. Trevelyan, take the Herald to get some food and a nap. You may explain all this to her later," Leliana said firmly, eyes not leaving Ella.

Ella supposed she ought to be worried about whatever Maxwell was going to be explaining to her. But right now, she was suddenly very tired. And hungry. And the plans they were making over her head sounded pretty good, since they involved both food and sleep.

Maxwell was here, and he wasn't angry, and he was proud of her. She would let him handle it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi guys!! i sure love and appreciate comments!! especially ones that go beyond "plz update" <3


	6. Chapter 6

Things she learned:

She was asleep for three days. After she passed out, Maxwell carried her back down the mountain, and Solas kept her from dying. The Breach was stabilized. No demons had come from it since.

Maxwell and her were no longer suspects. Apparently, after all they did to try to close the Breach, Cassandra decided that they were probably not the ones who killed the Divine.

The Inquisition was reborn. And they were rallying around her, the supposed Herald of Andraste. Ella still didn't understand how she got that title. They were calling Maxwell her Paladin, though, so clearly it could have been worse.

They needed to go meet someone named Mother Giselle. She was in the Hinterlands, helping refugees of the Mage-Templar war. They expected Ella to go along with them to assist in closing rifts. Maxwell was sorry.

He was so, so sorry.

Ella didn't know why, exactly. He didn't cause any of this. It's not his fault that—that her hand tried to kill her sometimes (though that's gotten better since the Breach got more stable), or that everyone who cared about her was dead now. In fact, he'd helped more than anyone, staying by her side through it all, actually carrying her when she could no longer go on, defending her from everything and everyone.

Ella didn't know exactly how to say that, though.

So instead she watched him with a tilted head from where she sat perched on the rock wall outside the smithy, letting potential words rattle around in her head as Maxwell spoke to Harritt.

As she was waiting, the crunching of snow underfoot heralded a new presence arriving, and Ella turned her head to see the Commander coming to a stop beside her. He was watching Maxwell, too, at first, but then he turned to Ella and gave her a small smile—the first one she'd seen from him. It was a nice look on him, she thought. It made his face a little softer, a little less scary. He still looked tired—he had that bone-deep exhaustion that some of the older elves she used to know carried—but the deep shadows under his eyes and the perpetual crease between his brows was a lot less pronounced when his mouth was curving up and his eyes were crinkling, even slightly.

Still, Ella reminded herself that he was a human. And humans did a lot of bad stuff, even while smiling.

"Hello, Herald," he said, voice much different than the grim thing it was the first time they met or the shout she knew it could become when he was upset with one of his soldiers. This was smooth and warm, and so unfamiliar from him it set her on edge, "What are you up to?"

Her first instinct was to lie; _nothing_ and _the cook is waiting on me_ on the tip of her tongue before she could even process the Commander's question. Before she let that spill out, though, she snapped her mouth shut again—the Commander wasn't interrogating her. He was trying to be friendly.

And Mamae had always said that friendly elves got hurt less than mean ones, so Ella tried to respond in kind. "Maxwell's getting Ser Harritt to make me some armor. He says I'm too small for what they've now."

The Commander nodded sagely. "A wise decision since you'll be heading off soon."

Ella nodded, poking at her marked hand and kicking her feet, her ears twitching nervously. She tried her best not to squirm under his attention, but, well—she wasn't quite used to spending so much time under the close scrutiny of so many humans, especially not ones with so much power. She glanced up to Maxwell, but he was still talking to Harritt.

The Commander then said, "Have you eaten yet?"

"No, ser," which was true, but also sounded bad. Or maybe that was what she was supposed to say? Either way, she followed it up quickly with, "But Maxwell is taking me to eat right after this."

He frowned, tilting his head back towards Maxwell. "They don't look very close to finishing."

They didn't. Harritt was pulling out a sheet of paper and beginning to draw with Maxwell looking over his shoulder and making comments as he did so. Maxwell had, in fact, told her it may be a few hours and that she would be better off finding Varric to sit with while he was busy, but Ella had been rather attached to him since she awoke and didn't want to leave him quite so soon. So she'd insisted on staying, and he'd let her.

She shrugged. The Commander hummed like he was contemplating that response, then said, "I was about to take my mandatory—" his eyes rolled a little, though Ella didn't think it was aimed at her—"meal break. Would you like to accompany me, Herald?"

Ella stiffened.

She didn't know the Commander, not like she knew Maxwell—and though she could accept there was one human to serve as an exception to the rule—maybe two, because for all her severity, Cassandra wasn't ever truly unkind—she doubted that the Commander would be another. And here he was, asking if she would like to go take a meal with him. Ella wasn't an idiot, even if she was a little foolish at times. She had, in fact, listened to her Mamae when she told her who and what to avoid, though sometimes she didn't follow her advice completely.

She could imagine her Mamae now, kneeling before her and telling her, _Ella, no matter how nice a man may seem, he could still want to hurt you. Nice men don't want to spend alone time with little elf girls. Be careful._

With that in mind, Ella tried, as politely as her racing mind could manage, "M-Maxwell is expecting me to wait for him, Ser Commander."

"Perhaps we might ask him? It seems cruel to force you to wait so long." Without waiting for Ella to reply, the Commander stepped in Maxwell's direction and called out, "Paladin, my apologies for interrupting, but may I take the Herald with me to the tavern? It's mealtime."

Maxwell's head snapped up. His eyes immediately sought out Ella, who was still perched on the wall outside the smithy, fidgeting. He excused himself from Harritt and stepped towards them, a smile sliding onto his face. "Commander Cullen, good morning."

"It's afternoon, actually, but thank you."

Maxwell glanced up at the sky, where the sun sat firmly at its highest point. He squinted at it, like it wasn't where he thought it was supposed to be, and then nodded. "So it is. I suppose it's lunch time, then?"

"Yes," the Commander replied patiently, "and I was hoping the Herald may accompany me for such, but she was hesitant to leave you alone."

"Ella, honey, I said you didn't have to wait. You should have gone with Varric."

Ella shifted, eyes dropping. Her butt ached from sitting on the wall for so long, and she shrugged, mumbling something intelligible.

Maxwell turned back to the Commander. "I would greatly appreciate it if you could take her along. I'd do it myself, but," he gestured at where Harritt stood, clearly trying to remain patient, but the tapping of his foot and the press of his lips betrayed him. Maxwell's face was apologetic. "I truly need to finish this; I need to make sure it'll keep Ella safe when we head out."

Ella watched the conversation unfold. The Commander said something about understanding, about their large workload; Maxwell laughed and agreed. It seemed like weird human adult stuff that would have been more boring if it hadn't ended with Maxwell slapping the Commander on the shoulder and thanking him, having agreed that he'd take Ella with him.

A flash of panic zapped through her, but she tried to quell it by reminding herself that Maxwell wouldn't let anything bad happen to her; he'd said as much. And clearly, clearly he trusted the Commander.

But, Ella couldn't help but think, Maxwell was a human. He didn't understand. He didn't—

"Does that sound okay to you, Ella?"

They were both looking at her now, and—maybe she should have said no or tried once more to insist on waiting for Maxwell, but instead she found herself passively nodding her head. Maxwell smiled and ruffled her hair, leaning over to press a kiss to her forehead, and then he lifted her off the wall to stand her back on the ground.

"Have fun, honey. I'll find you as soon as I'm done here," he said, and he moved back towards Harritt.

The Commander, tall and broad and so much bigger than Ella, stepped into his place and offered her a hand. His white teeth glinted as he smiled down at her and raised a single blonde eyebrow. "Shall we?"

She looked at his hand for a moment—large, gloved in brown leather, still waiting—and hesitated before taking it. It closed around her much smaller one firmly, but not tightly. After a moment, she swallowed and gave him a single nod.

"Very well. Let's be off."

And so they went. And just a few minutes later, Ella found herself in the stuffy warmth of the tavern—which was a lot less crowded than in the evenings since everyone was still at work—sitting across from the Commander, ignoring the bowl of stew in front of her in favor of crunching on the apples that Flissa sliced for her.

She kept her eyes firmly on the Commander as she did so, rarely letting them stray from him. He spooned a bite of his own stew, ripping chunks of bread to soak in the thick broth, and froze when he looked up to see Ella staring at him.

Carefully, he rested his spoon in his bowl and cleared his throat. "Is everything all right? Do you, er, not like the stew?"

Ella blinked, swallowing the chunk of apple she'd been chewing, then said, "I don't like onions."

Immediately, she regretted the admission. He'd bought her the stew; she should have just eaten it. She was just—picky. Not about most things, but onions. Still, eating around a few floating onions was better than being beaten for insolence, but it was too late to take the words back now.

"Ah," the Commander resumed poking at his stew with his spoon, noting the small onions floating in it, "I rather like onions."

Ella waited silently, half-eaten apple slice in her hand trembling finely.

"But beets," the Commander continued, face twisting into a grimace, "those, I can't stand. When I was younger, I would run from the house whenever we had them for dinner, and I wouldn't return until the next day."

She blinked. "Really?" It seemed strange that a man so important and strong as the Commander would run from beets.

But he nodded seriously, leaning forward, though his mouth curved up as he continued. "Really. When I went off to join the Templars, though, it didn't work nearly so well. The first time I tried to get out of eating my beets, the Knight-Captain sat me down and wouldn't let me leave until I'd finished my plate."

"No," Ella gasped, eyes widening; her Mamae had tried something similar, once, but when Ella started crying she'd given in and simply not fed her anymore onions.

"Yes," the Commander smiled, "and so I forced them down. But as he was lecturing me on the importance of discipline afterwards, I felt so sick that I vomitted all the beets right back up, directly on his shoes."

 _"No!_ "

"Yes." The Commander then leaned back, his warm eyes gleaming as he watched Ella gasp.

"But—then what? Did you get in trouble?" Ella trembles to think about what would have happened if she'd done something like that to the Cook.

"Of course," he replies easily. "I had to clean it all up and was on latrine duty for a week. But he never made me eat beets again, so."

Ella nodded fervantly. "You won."

"Yes, I did," he agreed, not a little smug. "So don't worry about the stew, Herald. If you're still hungry after that apple, I can get you another."

Suddenly, Ella remembered who, exactly, she was speaking with, and she leaned back in her seat. Her mouth opened, then closed, then opened again, and her voice was small as she said, "Thank you, Ser Commander."

The Commander's amusement faded as he watched her withdraw once more, and he tapped the table gently to get her attention. When her eyes snapped back up, he gave her the most reassuring smile he could find.

"You don't have to call me that, you know," he said. "Cullen works just fine."

 _Cullen_ , like she was some human lady or something. Like they were friends.

She knows her Mamae told her to be careful—she knows. But Cullen was so nice, and he bought her food, and he didn't even get mad when she didn't eat it. Ella thought that maybe he was another exception. Another good human. Surely, there could be a few? Since there were so many bad ones, there ought to be at least a dozen or so good ones?

She hoped so. She carefully picked up one of her apple slices and held it towards him and said shyly, "Only if you call me Ella. I don't like 'Herald' so much."

Cullen's smile widened. He took the apple slice. "Very well, Ella."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for the wonderful comments!!! they really helped motivate me to get another chapter written, and to plan out the next 3!!! wowwweee
> 
> also uhhh admittedly did not edit or reread this SO hopefully ok??? i was just on a roll and excited to post


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bet u thought u saw the last of me

By the time they had finished lunch, Maxwell still wasn't through. Designing custom armor, apparently, was more arduous a task than Ella had anticipated. Cullen seemed hesitant to leave her on her own, offering both to let her accompany him on the training field or to guide her back to the smithy. The idea of standing with him as he yelled at the sword-wielding soldiers was enough to make her pale—and she'd just stopped being so afraid of him—and spending another few hours sitting on a wall, waiting for Maxwell who didn't even want her to—well, she'd rather not. Instead, she decided she'd take his advice and find Varric.

Cullen didn't want to just let her go off by herself, but he gave in when Ella said she'd go straight to Varric and sketched her a quick bow with an apology.

Ella had searched for Varric; really, she had. But he wasn't at the campfire he usually occupied, couldn't have been in the tavern she just left, and—well, those were the only two places she'd ever reliably seen him.

So, she expanded her search. She wove between buildings, peeked behind Seggrit's stall when his back was turned, and even went up to the grumpy apothecary's house to see if he was there. He wasn't, and Ella wandered back down the path, disheartened.

As she passed by the Chantry—she didn't bother to check in there; Varric had been quite open about his discomfort with that place—someone called out. It was only after they repeated themselves twice more that Ella realized they were calling out to her.

"Herald, just a moment!"

Ella stumbled to a stop and whirled around to see the woman from the day she woke up—Josephine Mon-nobleman—waving at her from in front of the Chantry doors. Ella let her small hand creep up in response, shuffling closer, and Josephine beamed as she drew near.

"Thank you, Herald, and I'm sorry for calling after you in such a way. I was simply wondering if we could finally speak? If you're not too busy, that is."

Ella was hardly ever busy anymore. No one ever wanted her to go to the kitchens or fetch more linens or clean or anything, and she certainly wasn't about to volunteer for the jobs. She mostly just followed Maxwell around—though it had only been a few days since she'd awoken. Maybe they were finally going to decide what to do with her.

Josephine's face was open and warm, and the smile she aimed down at Ella seemed genuine. Something about her put Ella at ease despite all the hesitations she ought to have with her being both human and noble, and so Ella gave her a short nod and let Josephine lead her inside, already chattering.

"I'm sure the Paladin has told you already, but you'll be leaving for the Hinterlands as soon as we can finish your armor. Harritt is very talented, and the Inquisition is fortunate to have his aid. He's made this project his top priority, and with the Paladin's assistance, hopefully it will be done by—well, I may be a bit optimistic, but hopefully by tomorrow. We have all the other preparations ready."

Josephine held open a door as she finished speaking, and Ella dutifully entered what seemed to be her office. Quills, candles, and an obscene amount of papers were all stacked on the large desk that dominated the room, but Josephine guided them instead to a small table pushed off to the side, with rickety—but cushioned—chairs waiting.

At Josephine's gesture, Ella hopped into a chair, getting onto her knees so that she could properly see over the table. Josephine, with much more grace, lowered herself into the one opposite.

Then, in her accent that Ella thought was rather fancy, she asked, "Would you care for any tea, Herald? Cookies?"

Ella shook her head after a moment. "I just had lunch."

"Oh?" She sounded interested and not at all upset with Ella's refusal, which made her relax in her seat slightly. "At the tavern?"

"Yes, my lady," Ella replied, not intending to say anything more. But at Josephine's welcoming face, she reconsidered and added, "Cull—the Commander took me. I had apples."

Josephine had deep dimples in her cheeks when she smiled. "It was very kind of you to accompany him. Between us, I fear he hasn't been getting nearly enough to eat recently. I'm grateful you helped him."

A swirl of pride blossomed in Ella's chest, and she dropped her eyes to her fidgeting hands and said, "He's nice."

"I think so, too," Josephine said. Then, leaning closer, rather conspiratorially, "And rather handsome as well."

Warmth spread from Ella's cheeks to the tips of her ears, and she couldn't quite restrain the giggle that erupted. Cullen might be handsome, for a human—but it was naughty to even think about, much less talk about like Josephine is.

Josephine laughed as well, a pretty, round kind of noise, and then asked, "How are you, Herald? I understand that these last few days have been trying for you."

"Okay," Ella said. "I've been with Maxwell."

"So I've heard," Josephine said, "It's kind of him to look after you."

Ella nodded, hands grabbing at each other.

Josephine paused, and a gentle sort of look slid onto her face. Almost pitying. It made Ella's ears twitch to sit under. She continued in a low voice, "I understand that you lost your mother at the Conclave, and for that I am so sorry. Do you have any other family? A father? Siblings, perhaps?"

Ella's heart stuttered. "What?"

"To inform that you're safe," Josephine explained softly. Her face was no less kind, but Ella's stomach began to churn and suddenly she just wanted to get away—from Josephine, from the conversation, from the room.

"I don't—" the words were getting stuck in her throat, her chest squeezing, "It was just me and Mamae, she—I don't know."

"Oh," Josephine breathed, the noise a bit tremulous. Her eyes shone a little. "I see. Very well. I promise you that you will be taken care of, Herald. I understand that the Paladin has eagerly taken on a guardian role for you, and as long as you are happy with that situation, I see no reason why it cannot continue."

She looked as if she were waiting for Ella to reply, but she couldn't quite bring her mouth to work. Instead, she gave a nod—not really confident as to what she was agreeing to, but hoping that doing so would get this to end more quickly—and Josephine returned it.

"Thank you, Herald. Now, why don't we get to know each other better? I look forward to working with you more in the future."

"I—" At that moment, talking was the absolute last thing Ella wanted to do. "I have to go."

And despite the way her Mamae would have winced, Ella hopped out of her chair and fled from the room without waiting for a dismissal, face twisting up.

People gasped as she dashed through the Chantry. She danced around the person who was opening the door, ignoring their squawk as she skirted past them and out into the snow. She kept going, between soldiers and scouts and tents, past people who called her new title and someone who called her name. She ran out of Haven entirely, out past the training grounds where the noise of swords crashing together drowned out any calls, and kept running until her feet hit the damp, cold wood of the dock next to the frozen lake a few hundred yards out from Haven.

There, she let her legs give out, dropping down onto her butt and pulling her knees to her chest, gasping in deep breaths and trying to keep her tears from spilling over.

She wasn't surprised when less than a minute later, heavy footsteps hit the dock.

"Herald?" It was Cassandra—of course. Ella shrank in on herself as she drew nearer, coming to a stop just behind where Ella sat curled up staring out over the lake. "Are you well?"

Ella jerked her head up and down. She hoped that Cassandra would take her at her word—or lack of word, as it were—but she did not. Instead, she huffed and spoke again.

"We should go back to Haven. It is not safe for you to be out here alone."

"I don't want to," Ella said, voice small.

Cassandra made a noise in the back of her throat. "You would be safer inside the walls—"

"I don't want to," Ella repeated, louder, and then she flinched into her knees.

Cassandra was silent for a moment. "Fine. I will stay with you, then."

Ella peeked back. Cassandra was standing with her arms crossed tightly against her chest, face in a scowl. She said nothing as she caught Ella's eye, but her flattened lips softened slightly, and Ella turned forward once more.

The lake stretched on in front of them. It was frozen solid, the ice dusted with a light layer of snow that sparkled in the sun and the green light from the Breach. For some time, Ella gazed at it, but as every moment passed the awful gaping wound in her chest ached worse.

She remembered walking past here with her Mamae months ago when they were relocated to the Temple of Sacred Ashes for work. She'd wanted to see if the lake would hold her weight, but her Mamae wouldn't let her, too worried that it would crack and she'd fall in. Instead, they threw rocks on the surface together and watched them skitter across the ice. Ella searched for them now, wondering if they were still there—but under all the snow, she couldn't find them.

Ella dug her fingers into her knees. "I want my Mamae."

Her throat was burning from holding back her tears. She'd cried so much recently, so much since this had all begun, and she wished she would stop. She wished that this would all end and the ache in her chest, the panic constantly gnawing at the edge of her mind and threatening to take over when she paid attention to it, would just go away.

But it wasn't. Her chest kept aching, her hand kept glowing, the sky stayed broken, and her Mamae stayed dead. And Ella, once again, began to cry little sobs that shuddered through her and came out in ragged gasps as she tried to wrestle them back down.

Above her, Cassandra sucked in a breath. Ella squeezed her eyes shut, curling away from her. Cassandra probably thought her pathetic, little knife-ear crying again, can't do anything, not good enough, shouldn't have the Mark, shouldn't have been the one to survive—

Then, the dock beneath her creaked a little, shifting as someone settled down, and a hesitant hand was placed gently on Ella's back. Cassandra, closer now, said, "I—I understand."

Ella cracked sticky eyes open to look over; beside her, Cassandra was sitting on the dock, legs spread out in front of her, back straight, looking rather uncomfortable. Her mouth was twisted into a frown, almost glaring as she continued.

"I lost someone very important to me, as well. He was—" Cassandra faltered, seemingly lost for the proper words to describe him, but Ella understood well enough.

He was important, and he was gone, now. And Cassandra was all alone in the aftermath.

Cassandra’s throat worked as she swallowed. Her eyes were gleaming out at the lake. Ella wiped at her own face and then reached a hand out to rest on Cassandra’s arm, and when her brittle gaze swung around to Ella, she only flinched back a little before forcing herself to smile.

Cassandra blinked. Then, she let out a shaky breath, nodded, and rested her other hand atop Ella’s.

Then—"Ella!"

They both stiffened and jerked away from each other at once, snapping their heads around. Barreling towards them, Maxwell had his face twisted in concern, and he hurried through the snow onto the docks and was kneeling by Ella's side within moments.

"They told me you ran out here," he said, only a little out of breath. "I shouldn't have left you alone. I'm sorry, honey."

Ella frowned. "I'm fine."

Maxwell pressed a kiss against her forehead and tugged her against his chest, which—oh, he was warm. She hadn't realized how cold she'd been getting. She clung to him gratefully.

Above her head, Maxwell was thanking Cassandra profusely. She dismissed him in her awkward, stoic sort of way, and then she said Ella's name.

Ella looked back at her.

"If you ever need something, I am here," Cassandra told her. Her expression was as earnest as it had been back when they'd all believed Ella was going to die in closing the Breach. She stared back, eyes wide.

"Alright, c'mon, let's get you warm." Maxwell stood up, and Ella gripped onto his shirt tightly—not that she needed to, since he'd slid an arm beneath her thighs to support her. He looked to Cassandra and said, "I will see you in the morning; we leave for the Hinterlands after sunup."

Cassandra nodded. "As you say, Paladin."

Without another word, Maxwell carried Ella away. She let his chatter about Harritt's progress with the armor distract her.


End file.
